


Colours of a life well-lived

by daughterofshadows



Series: Beneath our wings [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Colours, Gen, Italics, Moment of Death Flashback, No Dialogue, The only character actually in this is Celembrimbor, a trip down memory lane, everyone else is only mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughterofshadows/pseuds/daughterofshadows
Summary: To Celebrimbor's surprise, his life ends in colour, not darkness.
Series: Beneath our wings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956457
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Colours of a life well-lived

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElvenRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenRose/gifts).



> This is for ElvenRose, whose comment on Beneath your wings reminded me that I wanted to write more for this 'verse and pushed Celebrimbor to the front of my mind. I hope you'll enjoy it!  
> This is the result of three days without wi-fi, so it's also dedicated to my provider for taking so long with setting it up and giving me some much needed time off the internet.
> 
> I know, the wing part isn't really mentioned in this, but it is set in the same universe as Beneath your wings and future works will hopefully draw more attention back to it. This one just didn't want to.

Against his expectations, Celebrimbor does not spend the last moments of his life in darkness, but rather in a whirlpool of colours.

A flash of red and he is back on a well-worn rug in front of a brightly burning fire. Formenos was cold and damp, but never lonely. No, never that. When he takes his first stumbling steps on that rug, his uncles cheer and he walks, knowing they will catch him should he fall.

_It’s the promise of sticking together and a whispered “We’ll keep you safe, little one.”_

A flash of red and ships are burning. The smoke makes his eyes water, and in the dancing light of flames, he learns what betrayal is. It is the biting wind in his face and the feeling of utter despair when reality finally sets in and he knows there is blood on his hands.

_It’s the first time he thinks that perhaps his family isn’t always right, and it is time to forge his own path._

A flash of red and there is Ereinion, face stained with blood, hunched over the body of a comrade, desperately trying to staunch the blood flow long enough for Elrond to work his magic. The sorrow when they lose another one and there is nothing they can do, except to keep fighting. They’re all tired of fighting.

_It’s the family he found in the dawn of a new age._

A splash of black and he is in the smithy with his father. Careful hands guiding him through the making of a knife, a sword, a breastplate. Soot on their hands, on their clothes, in their hair. His mother tutting disapprovingly when they track it back into the house and making them clean it up.

_It’s learning how to breathe life into a lump of metal; the curiosity of creation._

A splash of black and the world is dark. Even now the memory leaves the bitter taste of fear in his mouth. Mother is crying. He is, too. Never has he felt such terror before. Grandfather’s eyes are burning, his fëa blazing in fury. It’s the beginning of their downfall.

_It’s the helpless pain in the face of ruin; the despair of destruction._

A splash of black and he is in uncharted territory. The mines are pitch-dark. Or are they? A torch lights up and the world is bathed in colours. Millions of tiny lights blinking in the abyss. A beauty only nature itself is capable of creating. He takes a deep breath and follows the dwarrow inside.

_It’s the discovery of a new world; the excitement of exploration._

A dash of brown and he can smell the wet soil in his mother’s garden. Not a craftsman like his father, she was nevertheless a creator in her own right. Her gentle hands could coax any seed to life. Without her knowledge they would have starved quickly in the new world.

_It’s nurturing life instead of taking it, healing instead of hurting._

A dash of brown and his young cousin is curled up in an armchair by the fireplace. He looks peaceful in sleep, his wings draped across his body like a blanket. Elrond was an unexpected addition to his life. Of course, he had heard of him; after all, who hadn’t? Eärendil’s son, finally freed from his captors. But he hadn’t expected him to reach out, looking for family in a distrustful world. Elrond always defied expectations.

_It’s learning to love again instead of hating, finding friends instead of enemies._

A dash of brown and he is standing in his office in Ost-in-Edhil, looking out at the Hulsten trees, bald in winter. He can hear the buzz of the city below, slowly coming to life. His city, his new home. A place of learning and growing. Excitement fills him.

_It’s a new beginning, rising from the ashes of the old._

A flash of silver and he is being nudged to the ground by a large, grey dog. Huan is always gentle with him. A lick across his cheek, his uncle’s deep laughter and they’re off. A day in the woods, playing hide-and-seek under bushes and behind trees. Scratches and bruises and rough, but careful hands.

_It’s taking care of himself and others._

A flash of silver and he is at a drawing table, side by side with Narvi. In front of them a masterpiece slowly takes shape. He puts his grandfather’s star on the door. Partly in defiance, partly as a peace offering. Perhaps here it can stand for unity, rather than division. The ithildin gleam silver in the moonlight.

_It’s a promise of friendship, hewn in stone._

A flash of silver and he is in the escape tunnels far beneath the city. He just entrusted his most important work in the hands of a messenger, their armour shimmering in the light of the torches. Hoping against hope that they will reach their destination safely. He doubts he will live long enough to see it. The enemy is already at his doorstep.

_It’s placing his trust in others, trusting them to finish his work._

A splash of blue and he is in the kitchen gardens, sneaking blueberries from the bush. They’re supposed to be used in a pie, so he must be careful not to get caught by the cooks. He giggles, escaping the gardens with his bounty. His fingers and tunic are stained blue. In the distance he can hear furious shouts.

_It’s the innocence of easier days._

A splash of blue and he is standing at a new shore. Before him, Beleriand is being swallowed by the vast blue ocean. An entire continent gone, lost ‘til the ends of time. And still the water is rising. With each inch it gains, he is a bit further from home. Was purging the world from Morgoth truly worth all this? The sea doesn’t answer.

_It’s a time of change._

A splash of blue and the sky is clear. He is saying his goodbyes, before going east again. Elrond is clinging to him and Ereinion’s brow is creased in worry. Perhaps they knew what was to come. He has never been gladder that he managed to convince Elrond to stay in Lindon. At least Ereinion will keep him safe for a little while longer.

_It’s the last deep breath before the fall._

_And then the world is swallowed by gold._

Gold like Annatar’s eyes. Looking at him, promising greatness, knowledge, works greater than anything ever created in the First Age. He falls for it. His greed for knowledge overpowering any warning signs and tuning out the pleas to stop it.

Elrond begs him to throw Annatar out, not to trust him or follow his teachings. He ignores him.

Ereinion sends many strongly worded letters. They are tossed in the fireplace the moment the cross his desk.

If he could, he would laugh ruefully. What a fool he was. And now it is time to pay the price.

For a moment, the world comes back into focus. His eyes centre on the ring on Sauron’s finger.

His greatest failure. The doom of the Free People of Middle-earth.

The only triumph now is that the three have been sent away. No word has he whispered of their location, no matter the pain. Perhaps that will redeem him in the end.

_His fëa is slipping away._

_A last blaze of gold; a furious, unhuman scream and he is gone._

_Darkness surrounds him, and blissful silence._

A horn sounds in the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> This series seems to evolve into a dumping ground for my experiments with different writing styles so I would love some feedback!  
> Other than that stay safe, sane and healthy!


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